The Coming of the Green Man
by folklorequine
Summary: Loki finds himself in an unfamiliar country, on the run from his foster-family who have declared him an outlaw.
1. Chapter 1

**The Coming of the Green Man – Chapter 1**

"Be vigilant for the Green Man…" the words were clear, in Caerelia's own tongue. The mouth that spoke them was familiar, the rest of the face in shadow under a hood of russet cloth. She woke up instantly, realising that this was now the third night in succession she had experienced this curious dream, and always with the feeling that it was a riddle.

The sun streaked in through the lattice glass behind the curtain, casting criss-cross shapes on the wall opposite. Rising from her bed and seizing her wool cloak from the chair nearby, Caerelia NicGabhran, an Albannaich who lived just outside the country's capital, Dun Edin, approached the window and pulled back the cotton summer drapes. Outside was the long, wooded path into the King's hunting ground, where even now the deer and wild boar were scattering in terror of King Cinneach's grandson, Lachlan, and the young noblemen on their ponies, armed with flint-headed spears. The blackbird on the branch above the window emitted a twittering cry of annoyance as the sound of the drapes moving caused it to flitter to the opposite tree. Summer had truly come now; the land was warm and burgeoning with flourishing crops in all the farms and crofts in this fertile mid-shire landscape. In the Albannaich tongue they called it _An t-Og Mhíos_, the young month; the Sassanaich called it _June_ after a long-forgotten goddess. This was a far happier summer than in previous years; no war threatened the kingdom's peace and their neighbours in Sassain were slowly coming accustomed to their new ruler. Caerelia sighed, _If only Father were here to see how his sacrifice was worth it._ She cast the painful thought aside and left her chamber down two steps to her living room. The grate was empty; no need for fires in June. Finding her leather slippers just by the hearth, Caerelia slipped her feet into them and padded across the rush-matted floor to the larder cupboard which was at the far side of the room in the cold space nearest the wall, behind which was the main spiral stair. _Berries, cream, apples, _she thought, and reached for a wooden bowl from the pile on the lower shelf.

A few moments later, as she feasted on her breakfast along with a cup of apple juice, Caerelia was interrupted by a knock at her door. She rose and opened it, "Darak, what ails you this early?" she asked with a smile, seeing her friend and fellow warrior, already dressed in his navy blue doublet, white shirt, dark leather breeches and boots.

"Begging your pardon, Caerelia, but I had to tell you, the King sent me to keep an eye on the lads in the wood, and I spotted more than just our local wildlife," he began, his accent that of Eirinn, Alba's ally and neighbouring island.

"What strange beast stalks the wood then?" Caerelia wondered if Lachlan MacGabhran had come across some exotic white stag or other fantastical creature.

"Well, the lads saw what they thought was a raven, but on closer sight its feathers were iridescent, shining with every colour of nature. It flew around them and then swooped into a hollow, ye know, the place they call Cardenhaugh, the hollow thicket?" Caerelia nodded, "Lachlan, being the bold one, leapt from his pony and walked to the edge of the trees, then I heard him call me, his voice sounded as if he had been a-feared, and when I looked for myself, I saw in the far distance, a man, tall, with long hair as black as raven's wing, but shining in the sun, all the rainbow within. He looked back at us, but we had never seen his face before, and then he stepped into a bright shaft of sunlight …and vanished. The next we heard was the squawk of the raven, and that convinced me we have a shape-shifter in our midst!" Darak explained.

Caerelia's eyes widened, "That was worth coming to my door before I've even dressed. Give me a few moments, I will be with you and we can go back to the wood. What about Lachlan and his friends?"

Darak smirked, "Ah, the bold heroes were not so bold after seeing this mysterious individual, they have returned to the palace."

"Good, I just wonder… perhaps this is the meaning of my dreams of late. Did you see anything else of this man? His dress, his manner?"

"Not really, only that his clothes were mostly black with green flashes, the finest-looking leather. He looked like a warrior… a high-born one," Darak replied. "You didn't tell me you'd had strange dreams," he added.

"No… well, they didn't make any sense till now, just a word, just a line, _be vigilant of the Green Man_, perhaps it is, perhaps not," Caerelia told him. She stretched her hand out and patted his arm, "Just wait for me out at the stables," Caerelia said.

Darak touched her hand, "Yes, my captain, don't be long."

Dressed in her russet leather jerkin, breeches, riding boots and cotton shirt with red ribbons through the sleeves, Caerelia strode into the stable yard where Darak was already astride his grey horse, Pirate, named for the mare's black patch across her right eye. "Red ribbons, are you thinking witchcraft?" he called.

"You can never be too sure with a shape-shifter, he could be from anywhere, not just Alba, perhaps not even from the whole of the Easterlands, and these ribbons were woven from rowan fibre, no earth magic will prevail against their charm," Caerelia replied, as the groom helped her adjust the girth straps around her mount, a red stallion called Dileas.

"What if he is not of earth?" Darak commented.

Caerelia looked up at her fair-haired friend, "I'm no enchanter, but I'll deal with it when it comes, at the point of a blade if necessary!" she told him, reaching behind her neck and patting the hilt of her sword, which was encased in the sheath across her back.

The woods around Dun Edin were full of hills and hollows, ancient trees and streams. Most of it was known to Caerelia, Darak and the rest of the royal war band, especially Cardenhaugh, where the shape-shifter had been sighted. "The place where King David saw the holy vision," Caerelia commented, "My mother often told me the story of how his majesty went hunting on a sacred day after a white stag which drew him down to the hollow and cast him from his mount."

"Aye, it's a tale I know only since living here, makes me think our boy fancies himself as a usurper if he would walk in a sacred space," Darak replied.

"Maybe not, maybe he is ignorant of our history, maybe he's a fugitive looking for sanctuary," she said, thinking of her dream. The voice had not said "be vigilant _of_", but "for", which suggested this green man was someone she was to look after, watch out for his interests, perhaps?

They directed their horses down a softer bank into Cardenhaugh, and Caerelia dismounted. She felt there should be some signal of the shape-shifter's presence, and began to scan the forest floor for anything out of the ordinary. "Ah, he leaves his calling card," she exclaimed after a few moments, "A feather, a great black raven feather!" Caerelia lifted the feather in her hand, twisting it in the dappled light, the sun catching every shaft which sparkled blue, green, silver, all the colours that are hidden when the bird was in flight. There was one difference, this feather had a fine, bright green stripe through it, the colour of emerald. _Green man, or green bird?_ She thought. "Why don't you ride down by the loch at the foot of the bank and see if there is any trace there, that's where he would have emerged if he had returned to human form," Caerelia suggested.

"Will do, Captain," Darak replied and turned Pirate up the soft bank, the horse clambering quickly onto more solid ground.

Caerelia looked at the undergrowth, noticing broken twigs and bent grass where someone had walked recently. If this creature had changed his shape into a bird again, perhaps it was only because he knew he had been observed, thus the trail might appear further down the long hollow which led to the loch. She walked slowly and purposely between the birch trees which stood like silver-barked sentinels along the tiny path. She could hear more birds, blackbirds, sparrows, starlings, and then the alien chirp of a magpie. The bird sounded angry, agitated. Something was disturbing it. Caerelia followed the sound, looking up and down as she went. The sun seemed to dim as a damp mist arose from the ground, obscuring the tops of the birches. Suddenly she heard a voice, the very accent from her dream, and she was face to face with a hooded figure, dressed in an ancient traveller's coat of buckskin leather, a sturdy walking staff in his hand, old-fashioned boots made of leather wrappings on his feet. It had to be a male, as evidenced by the shape of the broad shoulders, the powerful sinew in the bare arm which stretched out the hand clasping the staff.

"Caerelia Mairead NicGabhran MacMaelcolm, be vigilant for the Green Man," he said, his features hidden by the hood, only the mouth visible, lips fringed with the shadow of a red beard. She stopped in her tracks, a shiver of recognition at the shape of that mouth.

"Only one knows my full name and that my grandfather was the late king, who is it that addresses me thus?" she asked, her voice carrying in the swirling mist.

"I bring a message to alert you, be vigilant for the Green Man, he means you no harm, he requires sanctuary, you shall be blessed to offer it to such as he," the man said.

"Traveller, please give me your name, and tell me, is the Green Man in our wood this day? Was he the shape-shifting raven that Lachlan my cousin saw earlier?" Caerelia ventured.

"You know me, Caerelia, you need not ask my name."

She stepped closer, "Father? My father? But you are dead, you gave your life at the Battle of Cuil Lodair to defeat the Sassenaich! Are you my father's spirit?" Caerelia begged.

"The Green Man _is_ in the wood. You may fear to trust him, but cast aside your fear, you will be his redemption, and he will purge the Easterlands from a long-feared threat. Just be vigilant of your heart, my girl, the Green Man is not of your kin, take care of your affections," the traveller replied.

"Oh!" she gasped and ran forward to pull the hood from the stranger's head, but as she did so, he vanished in the mist. Instead, a large raven fluttered down from the tallest birch nearby, pursued by the angry magpie. Caerelia drew her sword and swiped at the black and white bird which swerved away, leaving the raven to swing around behind another tree, a large solitary oak which marked the spot where the legendary king had seen the vision of the holy cross.

Caerelia felt a shiver down her spine; she almost wished she'd asked Darak to stay with her. Her anxiety had peaked now; why would her father's spirit prophesy to her of this mysterious green man? Sword still drawn, she stepped around the oak, and to her surprise stood a tall, raven-haired man with black and green leather coat. He looked equally surprised, unsheathing a similar broadsword to Caerelia's from the wide crafted belt around his waist. He was a stunning fellow, whoever he was; a fine golden complexion, straight, aquiline nose, slender lips which smirked with uncertainty and eyes which flashed a mixture of blue and green.

"Who are you?" Caerelia asked, both hands on her swordhilt.

"Oh, I have many names, but I am not a native of your land. I know your name, fine one, you are Caerelia NicGabhran MacMaelcolm, as that traveller said," his voice was like smooth honey, speaking in the Sassenaich tongue which she understood perfectly.

"A bheil Gáidhlig agaibh?" she asked in her own language.

"Tha, beagan, tha mi ag radh a rithist, is _thusa_ Caerelia," he replied faultlessly.

"So, you saw him too? Does his prediction apply to you?" she asked again.

"I know not of what the man spoke, but he seemed to know you very well. He was in spirit, that I know too," the stranger replied.

"Give me your name, stranger, you are in the king's wood, his majesty is gracious to those seeking sanctuary, if that is what you seek!" Caerelia heard her voice rise in tone. She did not know what she felt; a mixture of fear, puzzlement and something she did not understand, a feeling she dared not even name.

"I am Loki, prince of Asgard, the one they called Trickster, lord of chaos, troublemaker, all those who despise me that is," he replied.

Caerelia gripped her sword tighter. "I know of you, my father told me stories when I was a girl. My brother couldn't get enough of your mischievous adventures, but we did not think you were _real_! So, where is Asgard's kingdom? This is Alba, kingdom of Cinneach MacGabhran MacMaelcolm, and I am the king's champion, so I suggest you declare your intentions, mischief-maker, or prepare to demonstrate your fighting skills!" she retorted.

Loki laughed, a mocking, careless tone which riled her, "Fight? A mere girl? Oh believe me, I have heard of you too, and I struggle to believe that a child such as you can be her country's champion! Where is your famous warband?" he said, a sarcastic smile playing on his fine mouth.

"You dare question me? Without even striking a blow? Then more fool you, Loki of Asgard, I'll tame your ill-mannered tongue!" Caerelia was now angry at his words. Not one of her countrymen questioned her ability, so for some stranger from a far away land of mythical legend to call her a mere girl was enough to ignite her temper.

"Ooh! As fiery as your red hair! Then I shall enjoy this sword-play, little one, begin, begin!" Loki sneered.

Caerelia swung her sword straight into his as he lifted it to deflect her blow. She followed it up with another resounding clash, sending the stranger staggering backwards. "Fight then, stranger, fight this girl and she'll give you a taste of cold steel!" she hissed.

He was laughing again, "You know little of me, I am the very _god_ of mischief, the son of Laufey, the last Frost Giant, foster-son of Odin, king of Asgard!"

Their swords clashed and flashed in the wood, small twigs being sliced as they attacked each other fiercely. "You are no ancient power, you are a man like any other, don't claim anything other than your conjuring act for the boys earlier! The Empress of the Easterlands can shape-shift, that is nothing, merely magic learned from the grimoires of the past!" Caerelia cried.

"Nothing? You call my powers nothing? I was born of ice and fire, of chaos and mayhem! Loki is everything Odin wishes he was! They thought to mock me, and now they seek me in fear of their end!" he retorted.

"You know nothing of power, you have not seen the army of the dead fighting on behalf of the living, as did the spirits of Alba's ancient clans on the day of our great battle against our enemies! Can you raise the dead?" Caerelia jibed.

"Can you call fire to your hand with a word? Let me show you!" Loki whirled around, avoiding her sword and opened his hand towards her. She dived instinctively out of the way, a split second before a blast of green and yellow flame shot out of Loki's palm and scorched a tree behind her.

"Vandal! There'll be none of that on the king's property!" Caerelia snapped, leaping forward, her sword arm outstretched, the blade connecting with Loki's chest. He staggered backwards, surprised at her swiftness.

"You have fire of your own, little pet, you could outshine Freya herself with it!" Loki charmed, as he tried to grab her with his left arm. She seized his wrist and twisted it backwards, causing him to gasp in pain. He swiped his sword at her arm, slicing a neat shaft through the cotton, bringing a ribbon of blood to the surface. Caerelia let go and swung her sword with both hands towards his neck, "Avalon's power of command subdue this fool!" she cried.

Loki was quicker; his sword blocked hers, the steel sparking as the two blades connected. Caerelia roared and pushed hard, smacking Loki into the trunk of the broad lime tree behind him. She leaned her whole weight against him, but was puzzled that the swords sizzled and crackled against each other like lightning. Loki grabbed Caerelia's short hair with his free hand and pulled her head back. "What is this? Witchcraft?" he demanded.

"My sword is my father's. He was Alba's champion before me, this blade he used against Sassain's grasping king, and sliced his head from his shoulders like the vile, murderous dictator he was! It is named _Avalon_ by its creator, Wayland, the blacksmith trained by the best craftsmen on earth! His blades are supernatural, but of them there are only seven. For this to happen must mean your sword is one of his too!" Caerelia snapped, feeling the strength in his grip.

Loki looked down at the blades crossed against his chest, and suddenly the rune inscription on his made sense. "Ha, now it is revealed, the rune reads _I am the king's blade; White Fire is my name._ Wayland, the king of the smiths! I thought it was my legacy! My father surely inherited it from the crafter himself! White fire, the flame that creates in the smith's forge, the converse of what I am, the bringer of destruction!"

"That is as may be, but no sword of Wayland will defeat its brother! So, tell me, Loki, does this make you the Green Man of whose coming I was warned?" Caerelia said sharply, taking one hand off her hilt and sinking her nails into his wrist.

He hissed and let go her hair. "I know not, but you are more than a worthy adversary if you wield a sword of Wayland. He was trained by Divalin and his brothers, they are the dwarf lords of the deep, with them lies the secret of making both weapons and jewellery which everyone desires to own. My foster-sister Freya fell under their spell concerning a necklace they named _Brisigamen_."

"The one you stole from her, if the story is true?" Caerelia commented.

"I had to, Odin asked me to get it from her to uncover her foolishness. But you are no fool, Caerelia, I beg your pardon for my … facetiousness," Loki's eyes danced with excitement.

Caerelia pushed Avalon hard against Whitefire, watching the sparks of green, red and white glitter off both surfaces. "Don't try and charm me, Loki, I'm a warrior, not a maid!" she retorted. "There is green in your eyes, green on your coat and your tunic, I wonder if that's what my father meant. So, what mean you that Asgard runs in fear of you?"

He looked at her, admiringly, "They have already sealed the fate of my sons, and now they're coming after me. Odin knows that their end is at hand and that I will lead the rebel army on the day of Ragnarök, when Asgard will fall. They think by imprisoning me they will stop it, but all that will do is delay the inevitable!" Loki's eyes seemed to soften as he pronounced the words, now talking in Caerelia's own language as fluently as he could in the Sassenaich one.

"So, what are you telling me? You came looking for me, why? Because you thought I'd take pity on you?" Caerelia asked, without malice.

"No! I expect no pity, _I_ was born to be a king, I will bow to no man, what I wish is sanctuary, a place to escape my pursuers, at least… for a while anyway," Loki answered, his demeanour suddenly sincere.

"Sanctuary. And you know that as the king's champion that is one of the things I can give, I can take you under royal protection if you agree to the terms. I wonder that such an arrogant man as you could even contemplate it, considering you have just declared you bow to no man!" Caerelia retorted.

He smiled like a boy who had stolen apples from a neighbour's orchard, "I didn't say I wouldn't bow to any woman, though, did I?"

"Huh, that would be a spectacle to see, Mischievous One! So, you cannot defeat me, I cannot defeat you while we are armed with blades of Wayland's making, do you then agree to go with me to the palace and ask the king to gain protection? He is my relative you see, the Clan Gabhran are the rulers of Alba, they founded it under Fergus Mór MacErc, many generations ago. My father and King Cinneach were first cousins. In our law, anyone from the royal clan may be king or queen if they can lead an army and be father, or indeed mother to their clansmen. So, you speak to one of royal blood if that concerns you," Caerelia explained.

He laughed a little, "Yes, I would not expect less from someone who has fought so fiercely yet with chivalry and graciousness. And yes, I will agree to go with you, but not as a vanquished foe, as a traveller seeking sanctuary!"

"Agreed… now, I already don't trust your words, so, what surety can you give me of your sincerity?" she asked.

"I will give you my sword if you let me move an inch!" Loki grinned.

Caerelia stepped back, allowing Loki to shift position. He examined the half-moon indentations on the back of his hand from her nails. One had drawn blood. "I should call you Firefly, you bite like one!" he commented blithely.

"Your sword, Loki," she replied seriously.

He handed her the weapon, which she took. She then dug both blades in the undergrowth and swung a punch at his stomach, causing Loki to double up in agony. Caerelia followed up the blow with another to his chin, sending him over on his back, gasping in pain.

"Darak! Darak where are you? I've got us a fugitive!" Caerelia yelled. She seized Avalon in her grip and placed her foot on Loki's chest. Leaning down over him, she snarled. "You will _never_ call me 'pet' or 'girl' again! I am Caerelia NicGabhran, and _I bow to no man for any cause, save my king_!"

Loki sighed, "Firefly, then! You bite like one!" he muttered, and sank back against the bracken.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Coming of the Green Man – Chapter 2**

The thundering of hooves heralded Darak's approach, and soon he was at Caerelia's side, his white horse standing in readiness by the trees. "Well, is this your Green Man?" he grinned, seeing her standing over her quarry.

"Evidently. This, smart-mouthed, arrogant foreigner calls himself Loki Laufeyson, says he's the god of mischief. So much for his bravado when faced with a sword of Wayland!" Caerelia replied, still enraged.

Darak laughed aloud, "Oh my dear Caerelia, you never can resist teasing, can you?" He came nearer and reached down a hand to Loki, "Up ye come, stranger, better ye never experienced her full-blown battle rage, or ye would not be breathing now!"

Loki accepted his assistance and stood before them, a purple-black bruise appearing rapidly on his jaw where Caerelia had hit him. "So I see. Forgive my insolence, my lady, I really had not reckoned on your ability," he said, smoothly, catching her gaze with his blue-green eyes.

"From now on, Loki, I do not trust a word you say until you can prove me otherwise!" Caerelia snapped. She handed Loki's sword to Darak, "Take it, he is not to have it back until we have spoken to the king. Meanwhile, you will submit to me, you are going to be paraded as a defeated foe, just to pay you back for insulting me!" She sheathed Avalon and then from her torn sleeve, she pulled the enchanted ribbon, "Come here you ill-mannered cully!" Caerelia grabbed Loki's wrists and crossed them over one another, whereupon she bound the ribbon around them, all the while chanting a spell which would set his powers at bay until they reached the royal palace. "You may scoff at this flimsy bond, but believe me, it is sturdier than any iron shackle you may have seen in your lifetime," she commented, catching sight of his broad smile.

"I bow to your superior knowledge, my lady, but I know my own magic, I could fell you both with one rune spell if I so desired," Loki retorted.

"Test it, then, smart-mouth, you'll see your magic does not work here in Alba!" Caerelia snapped, tying the final knot.

Loki attempted to pull his wrists apart, but discovered that Caerelia's words were true, the slender ribbon suddenly had the weight of the heaviest forged manacle that the dwarf lords might have made, cutting into his flesh as would the dark metal. "Oww! This indeed is witchcraft! What mean you by this humiliation?" he sounded pained.

"Ach, calm your pride, stranger, she's only doing what is her right as the kingdom's guardian, securing a potential enemy. If ye prove yourself trustworthy then we're happy to accept you, but whatever I missed, ye must have made some highly foolish taunts to upset Caerelia so!" Darak chuckled. "Come on, we better get out of this hole, that mist does not bode well for the day's weather."

Between them, Caerelia and Darak led Loki to the flatter paths above the Cardenhaugh and back to the main trail which led to the warband's hall and further on, the royal palace of Cinneach MacGabhran. Loki said no more, realising that things were not as simple as he had imagined they would be. Alba was a place of power which he did not understand. The obedient horses walked behind the trio, stopping at the hall as their masters continued through one of the smaller city gates up a cobbled road to the courtyard.

One of the royal footmen came running out of the doorway as they approached. "Madainn mhath, Captain Caerelia, Darak, who is this fellow?" the young man dressed in a red surcoat emblazoned with the king's golden rampant lion device asked.

"Madainn mhath, Duncan, will you tell his majesty that we have a stranger who seeks sanctuary?" Caerelia replied.

"I shall, follow me, the king is in the great hall with his grandson, I'm sure he'll receive you immediately," Duncan answered and turned, the scarlet silk of his coat fluttering behind him as he went.

"Your clan device?" Loki asked, "The lion?"

"Yes, Clan Gabhran, Fergus Mór's standard," Caerelia replied. "Keep your insolence to yourself before the king, he may be a kind man, but he is the father of our clan and demands respect!"

Loki's eyes widened, "I am capable of respectful behaviour!" He looked to Darak for help, but the Eirinneach shrugged indifference.

Just as they reached the doors of the great hall, Duncan opened them and beckoned them inside, saying the king was ready to see them. Caerelia grabbed Loki's arm tightly and strode into the hall. Cinneach MacGabhran was dressed in a red robe, the same colour as Duncan's, but the sleeves and cuffs were trimmed in gold fringing. But Loki noticed that under the robe the king's clothes were as plain as a townsman's. He wore no crown, but a cloth bonnet of multicoloured woven fabric. He was leaning over a vast oak table, looking at a map of the kingdom, his grandson, Lachlan, was by his side. Loki recognised the youngster as the one who had seen him as both raven and man. The youth spotted him and retreated behind his grandfather's back, causing Cinneach to look up.

"Ah, Caerelia and Darak, is có esan?" Cinneach's voice was deep and rugged, betraying the years that his fine complexion did not.

"This creature here is the shape-shifter that Lachlan saw in the wood. His name is Loki Laufeyson and he claims to come from the kingdom of Asgard. He wishes sanctuary in Alba from his family who now declare him a renegade," Caerelia said sharply, glowering at Loki.

"Yes, Seannair, 't'is the raven man, he changed before my eyes in the Cardenhaugh!" Lachlan's voice was piteous.

_If Loki dares make one comment to the boy, I'll …_ Caerelia thought, but her captive stayed wisely silent.

Cinneach strode forward, "Release him, Caerelia, whatever happened out in the wood must be set aside for the moment," the old man said.

Loki nodded his relief at the king's words as Caerelia reluctantly untied the ribbon, chanting the reverse spell as she did so. "My, my, the spell of binding, surely you upset my champion?" Cinneach smiled knowingly.

"Well… perhaps, but that is my nature, I am mischievous and, according to Odin and the rest of my traitorous foster-family, a rebellious spirit whom they wish to imprison! For no cause other than the words of a prophecy from an oracle which consists of the frozen head of my foster-father's enemy!" Loki retorted.

"You are welcome under my roof, Loki, I learned long ago not to listen to tittle-tattle. Every man will show his true nature without prejudice, thus be assured that I have no quarrel with you, but I cannot vouch for Caerelia!" Cinneach replied.

Loki's eyes widened at the generosity of the king's words just as Caerelia pulled the ribbon free from his wrists. He rubbed at the skin, seeing that it was indeed chaffed as if he had been bound with iron. He nodded his head again to Cinneach, "Thank you, my lord, from a heart that finds it hard to accept others are not like the suspicious Aesir!"

"So, Asgard, eh? I believe from the tales that your land is an island in the far northern sea, many days' sailing from Alba's most northerly province. Folk talk of ancient gods and heroes, all well and fine, but we believe there is only one God, the creator of all things. What you may call divine, we might call magic. But I do not insult you, Loki, I merely tell you this so you know that none in Alba nor the Easterlands will regard you as anything particularly special, since many have learned to harness the powers of the earth and sea over generations. Whatever your world contains, it is not as ours, yet it is part of the same globe wrapped in sea, formed out of nothing at the beginning of Time. My grandson here fears magic and elemental forces, only because his generation are more practical and creative, so your ability to transform your shape was something very new to him. Magic here is used sparingly. Thus, if you wish sanctuary, you must agree to remain in Caerelia's company as your protector until it is known you have taken asylum here, and agree to avoid causing conflict or bringing trouble upon this kingdom," Cinneach explained, his voice calm and measured all the while.

"I believe that the Aesir and Vanir will not find me here, especially seeing as the forces of this land are much akin to theirs. They will not risk making new enemies, not when they believe I will be the cause of their end! I will keep very much to myself, I seek only respite until the time comes when I can no longer avoid my fate. My son Fenris has been chained by trickery, my human sons have been slaughtered causing their mother to despise me, and my own daughter, the queen of our dark realm refuses to even save me from death. I have nowhere else in the nine realms to go, Midgard, as we call these lands, is my only safe haven for the time being!" Loki's voice was full of anger, but Caerelia could hear a note of painful sadness there. "Most of all, Odin slew my own father, Laufey, the last of the Frost Giants, before my very eyes when I was a very young child. I want my revenge on them, but the season of Ragnarök is not yet at hand, so until then, I wish peace!" he added.

Caerelia turned away; she could not look at him, for all of a sudden a waking dream filled her mind. She saw Loki, naked and bruised, chained with the most curious irons, sparkling with binding magic, howling in agony as his face was burned with poison spat from the mouth of an angry serpent suspended above him. This was the fate that his kin would impose upon him? Even fostered sons deserved no more than the same love and kindness as the blood ones did! She shook off the vision and turned back. Loki was staring at her, as if he sensed what had happened. Caerelia looked into his blue-green eyes and realised that yes, he _was_ the Green Man of her father's prophecy, and this was the terrible fate she was keeping him from. He felt his soul quail a little under her gaze; she _knew_, she knew what the oracle had told him. But this was impossible, how could a mere girl of Midgard know his end? Caerelia saw that fear, a tiny spark of uncertainty which told her that he needed her protection for all his bluster and nonsense.

"My kinsman, my king, I… I believe Loki is telling the truth. And I would undertake his protection willingly. I think there is some prophecy in this, I dare not speak of its true origin, but Loki's presence here was foretold to me in a dream. Not a direct one, but a spirit confirmed it in the wood today. Loki is the Green Man of my vision, I was told to be vigilant for him, and I believe this means that I am destined to act as his protector for whatever time is needed. And further, that he will be the means of ridding the Easterlands of some long-feared enemy, so yes," she hesitated, turning again to look at Loki, "Yes, if you agree to the king's terms, then I will act as your protector, as will my warband ensure that no harm comes to you while you are in Alba."

"Then I would be foolish not to accept!" Loki smiled with relief.

Cinneach held out his hand to him, which Loki shook enthusiastically. "Regard _us_ as your family now, Loki, the rules of sanctuary recognise you as one of the clansmen of Gabhran, the father of Fergus Mór MacErc, our founding ruler."

"I suspect it will be vastly preferable to a foster-family who would like to hang, draw and quarter me!" Loki replied.

"No more talk of them, ye're an Albannaich now," Darak said, patting Loki's shoulder. "I am Darak Scathlock, Caerelia's deputy, and speaking as an Eirinneach who has found a home here, I can promise you the peace you seek."

"Much obliged, Darak, it is more than I ever imagined," Loki replied.

"Now, my lad, come and meet your raven man, see, he is one of us and you have no need to fear," Cinneach beckoned his grandson who shuffled sheepishly up to the king's side.

Lachlan was small and red haired like Caerelia, but his face was scattered with freckles. "Did you really become a bird?" he whispered.

"Yes, and I can be any creature I desire, using rune magic, something my blood ancestor invented. Though I'm sure your grandfather does not wish me to show off before you like some market conjurer," Loki said, "But watch," he added, holding out his palm. He recited a word which was entirely foreign to their ears, but Caerelia recognised it, the rune of fire, his own signature, as she had seen in the wood. A tongue of green flame leapt into existence from his fingers, causing Lachlan to open his mouth wide in surprise. "Wow, is it real?"

"Throw this upon it, my lad," Cinneach said, taking a scrap of paper from his robe pocket and handing it to the boy.

Lachlan giggled as he dropped the paper into Loki's palm, seeing it singe and then consume in green and red fire. He clapped his hands, "Oh, wonderful magic!"

"Aye, but not for wee balachs like you," Darak warned gently.

Loki curled his fingers into a fist and opened them again, showing his skin was undamaged. "Queen Eithne will love you, she can shapeshift too, as can her husband, oh, I thought it was only Easterlands folk who could do this!" Lachlan exclaimed.

"Now lad, no gossiping to your friends, Loki's presence is not something we will carry to the four corners of the globe, not yet anyway, away you go, your schoolmaster will be expecting you ere long!" Cinneach said, patting Lachlan's shoulder. Lachlan gave a crestfallen look, and then turned to leave.

Loki suddenly felt very sick; the sword battle seemed to have taken a greater toll on him than he had expected. His bruised jaw stung in agony. "I thank you all for your kind welcome, but I feel… I must rest now, Caerelia has quite exhausted my strength," he whispered. A strange squawking echoed around the hall; to their surprise, a large black raven had flown into the rafters and was now circling above their heads.

"Squawk! Caw! My fire is now become water, my healing is now become wound, my day is now become night!" the words came clear from the bird's beak.

Loki stared in horror; with every line the creature spoke he felt weaker. "It is one of Odin's birds! Huginn the Raven! He speaks a curse against me!" he gasped, the full import of his words painfully clear as Loki sank to his knees, feeling every ache and bruise that Caerelia had inflicted on him. The raven flew down and circled Loki, "Caw, caw, you are undone, Loki, undone!"

Loki tried to raise his hand to swipe the bird away, but found he had no strength. Caerelia drew Avalon and swiped it at Huginn, "Fie! Away, bird, away you go!" but the raven was not finished pronouncing his runes, "Loki hide, Loki stay, no power have you now to answer Asgard!" Caerelia stabbed at the raven, seeing the terrible effect it was having on her fugitive.

"Get out of here, or I'll slice your wings off!" she yelled, shouting an Albannaich curse after the fleeing bird which she chased out of the hall and into the courtyard. "Fly away, raven, fly, the next time you come here I'll have our best archer fell you from the heavens!"

She dashed back into the hall to see Loki crouched on the floor, grasping his arms around himself in pain. "What's to be done?" she asked. "That bird, it seemed to speak some enchantment which has taken Loki's powers away, he will be safe nowhere without his magic!"

"Take him back to the warrior's hall, look after him, I will send Marianne to you, she has the skills to heal bodily wounds as well as those of the mind, this is bad news indeed, bad that he believed they would not find him, and that they would pick a fight with us," Cinneach warned.

Loki was barely able to walk as Darak and Caerelia supported him. Eventually they reached their hall, and were greeted by the other members of the warband. Caerelia gave a quick explanation of events and they helped carry Loki to the guest chamber on the ground floor. Caerelia's friends, Lawrence Bowen, Stefan MacMhurich, Brendan MacRae, Darien MacIlwraith and their groom, Gareth Ross, all stood around the bed as she knelt by Loki's side. He was apparently delirious, sweat streaking his brow. Caerelia clasped his hand, "What can we do, Loki, speak to me, I have no knowledge of rune magic!" She turned to her friends, "Go, all of you, I fear that we may be attacked after this. Gareth, bring a bowl of water and a sponge, and some honey mead, it may help calm him."

As they left, Loki turned his head towards her, "Caerelia?" he whispered.

"You're in trouble now, so much for Odin not finding you, instead he sends one of his sentinels to strip you of your powers! What can I do here?" she asked, agitated.

"I know not… this is a cruel punishment, they kill my children and then leave me weaker than a day-old kitten! Please, I am frightened, I have never felt such… turmoil in my heart, and the pain, the pain, I cannot heal, it hurts!" he pleaded, his voice rasping.

"Think, see past your fear, that is what chains the mind, do not let it! How can I protect you from them?" Caerelia asked again.

Loki took a deep breath, remembering that power or not, he was still born of the elements which could not be controlled. "Whatever magic you have… I know this land has a powerful aura, if you could chain my wrists with a mere ribbon, surely you can use such a spell to hide me from the rune magic of Asgard?"

"Yes! Yes, let me think, of course… bide there a moment," Caerelia exclaimed and ran from the room.

Loki felt his heart racing, every move ached, especially his jaw and his lower chest where Caerelia's blows had struck. _How could Odin have done this? Why did he not do it before if he wanted me subdued? What has he done, what does he know that has made him take this foolish step?_ His angry thoughts seemed to increase his pain. He struggled to push the coat from his shoulders, every turn sending another firebrand through his veins, but eventually he removed it, turning to his boots, gasping in agony as he took them from his feet. He sank back on the bed, unable to unclasp the buttons at the nape of his neck on the green and gold tunic. Caerelia reappeared. "What are ye doing? Oh Loki, you're so stubborn!" she exclaimed, "Bide still till I help you!" She put her arm under his shoulders and helped him to a sitting position. He grasped his arm around her waist to steady himself as she unbuttoned the tunic and then eased it over his head. To her horror, his torso was covered in bruises in every place Avalon had struck him. They must have fought far harder and more fiercely than Caerelia had imagined. "Now, let me give you this," she said, and placed a fine linen shirt over him, one with wide sleeves which were entwined with black ribbons, the cuffs made of finest lace. Black silk ribbons were laced loosely through the neck of the shirt too. Loki flopped back on the cool covers, finding a little relief.

"What is this garment?" he sighed.

"One which has the magic of a druid priestess therein. You are wearing my brother's shirt. Alasdair MacGabhran died at my father's side in the great battle of Cuil Lodair. When his body was returned to his wife, she took his undershirt, washed it, and laced those ribbons through it. She wore it in his memory for a whole year after his death. My sister-in-law was brought up in the druidic tradition, a powerful healer and enchantress, and those ribbons have a peace spell within. So, this will hopefully calm your fears, and…" she continued, stripping the red ribbons from her own shirt, "My rowan ribbons will protect you from any further evil craft," Caerelia then wove them through the same eyelets as the black ribbons, whispering another spell, explaining as she went that it was the same as the one she had pronounced this morning on herself when she and Darak had gone to the wood.

Loki looked at her, feeling very relieved she was no longer regarding him with angry eyes. "Bless you, Caerelia, bless your kindness to a foolish, over-confident Asgardian who wrongly thought his world was the centre of the universe," he whispered.

"I am only doing what my father's spirit told me to, you are still an unknown quantity. Heed my words and the king's commands and you might just gain my trust," she said, feeling her heart heavy with fear for him. The vision of him chained danced insistently in her mind's eye, making her sick to her soul. She could hardly look at Loki directly, her throat tightening with emotion.

"Caerelia? Look at me, look at me, dear pet, I know you hate me saying it, but I use it affectionately, look at me," he begged, his left hand closing over hers as she finished tying the ribbon on the right sleeve.

Caerelia swallowed the lump in her throat and raised her eyes to focus on his. He could see they were shiny with tears which she fought not to shed. "I am going to give you such a skelp for that when you are well again. I told you, Loki… I am _nobody's_ pet!" she said quietly, but there was only sadness in her tone.

"You are a warrior, you proved it to me, I would not be in as much agony as this now I am forced to inhabit a powerless body if you were not my equal. My experience of womankind to date is not good, princesses, simpering serving girls, and insane harridans who thought they could tame me with their wiles. Only you stood up to me man to man as it were, I will not forget it," he said, hardly able to help his charming words.

Caerelia stared at him. "Be wary of using your silver tongue with me, Loki, especially as you are wearing the shirt of a true hero, a royal clansman, the only son of Alba's late champion, who shunned not the heat of battle and faced the enemy in the front line. Alasdair's wife vowed she would never forgive the Sassanaich for taking his life, but she didn't realise, he was happy to give it for his kin and his land. Alasdair never spoke a false vow in his life; he had a calm spirit which I did not. He was fair haired, blue-eyed, more like Fergus Mór's sons of old, rather than the russet-haired MacGabhrans of the last few generations, and it breaks my heart to think that he had such a worthy soul that he would think nothing of giving it to preserve the legacy of others. Don't you see? I am nothing like him, I have a fierce battle-rage which often gets out of control, I will fight an enemy with double the energy required only because I wish to destroy them! You talk of mayhem, _I_ know of it, it is the red mist which blinds me to everything, so you see, we are not so different. I am only champion because of my fellow warriors and my kinsman ruler, I could not do it alone. To see the fate that awaits you terrifies me that my sins might lead me to something similar. If I can keep you from it, I keep myself safe too, so do not take advantage of my feelings, I do what I must to keep the dragon in check!"

Loki saw a single tear streak down her cheek. He felt powerless to help her. "I will keep your secret, my… my pet, if you keep mine," he whispered.

Caerelia leaned over him under her face was right in front of his, "Agreed, but … if you use that word once more…"

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Caerelia cursed aloud and called "Thig a steach!" It was Gareth; in one hand a bowl of water, and in the other a jug of honey mead. Caerelia sighed. "Tapadh leibh, Gareth, give me the bowl and you will find a horn cup in the press below the table there," she said.

"Honey mead? Did you know that is my favourite of all refreshments? Forget wine or spirits, the drink made with the golden treasure of the bees is Loki's own!" he smiled weakly.

"Sir, 't'is made with honey from the king's own bees, the hives are at the top of the wood where the bee keeper lives," Gareth explained as Caerelia placed the bowl on the side cabinet and soaked the sponge in the cool water.

"A bee keeper is a king in his own right, indeed, more than a king, a tamer of dancing dragons. Did you know that a bee and a dragon can be described the same way?" Loki told the young man as he approached with a filled horn cup.

"That is a riddle, how can something so small be akin to something so great?" Gareth asked.

"The dragon has fiery breath, does it not?" Gareth nodded, "And if a bee stings you is the sting not a fiery bite into the skin which burns deeply? Both bees and dragons have wings, and both the dragon and the bee guards a treasure of gold, only that of the bees can a man eat, however!"

"Ah, 't'is a clever answer, sir, taste the mead and see if it lives up to your expectations," Gareth said. Loki shifted himself to a seated position with his back leaning against the lime-washed wall and took the cup from the groom. He supped it and savoured the sweet, sticky taste. Loki shut his eyes and murmured contentedly, "Mm, a drink worthy of a god! Exquisite!"

"Make sure we have a few bottles in the larder for later," Caerelia said, dismissing the groom with a wave. She took the sponge and wiped it across Loki's brow, "Better?" she asked, seeing his skin was still flushed red.

"Mm, your magic seems to help," he replied.

"Fine, your riddles make me think you're calmer already," she told him.

"Your wound has not healed either," he commented, seeing the long scar that his blade had sliced in her arm, bare now she had rolled her sleeves up.

"Och, it's a scratch. Don't concern yourself with it," Caerelia said.

"Caerelia, I feel it necessary to concern myself with your welfare considering your comment before we were interrupted. Your fears for yourself I think are only because you miss your brother, and your father. I was so young when Laufey was slain, I did not remember him. Your kinsmen were heroes of battle, I can barely picture my father's face. You are pure-hearted, whatever passion of temper you have, my heart is already black with rage and jealousy, painted thus by my false family's mistrust of me!"

"Oh, we make a right pair, don't we?" Caerelia sighed. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him, now pale and ashen-faced, the bruises she'd inflicted on him growing darker and more lurid by the moment. Loki held out his hand, spreading his fingers wide. Caerelia laced her fingers through his.

"Truce?" he said.

"Agreed. Only if I get an equally annoying word to describe you!" Caerelia smirked.

Loki sighed, "If you must! But I do not understand why you object to being called my pet!"

"Gah! Smart-mouthed serpent! Because _I_ do not belong to anyone, thus I am no man's pet! A lapdog is a pet such as Lachlan's sisters own, and that is _not_ what I am! You cannot use a word that suggests you want to dominate me, as I will not allow it!" Caerelia gasped.

"Ha! A lapdog, hardly, you bite like a firefly, rage like a dragon and your battle fury is like that of your golden lion. When I say pet, I mean it with affection and sweetness, surely I am permitted to do so?" Loki said in a mock crestfallen tone.

"Well then, let me think, what are you apart from all I have said? Your hair is black as the raven, your eyes are green like the emerald, and you _had_ mastery over the elemental fire of the earth. See, I can only think of something which is hardly an insult… you are Wildfire!" Caerelia exclaimed, squeezing his hand.

"And you are thus my Firefly, a creature I cannot tame, does that please your sense of independence?" Loki asked.

"Mm, it's preferable to pet!"

He sighed, "I am so tired, the sickness has passed, but I have no strength," he whispered. "Stay till I fall asleep, Firefly, stay…" Loki slumped forward, his breathing deep and clear. The twin enchantments of the ribbons had done their job. Caerelia eased him down the sheets until he lay with his head on the pillows. She pulled the jacquard coverlet up around him and gently smoothed his black hair away from his face. _Oh dear, you charmer, what are you doing to me? _Caerelia thought to herself. He was stunningly attractive still, bruised or not. She bent close and whispered in his ear, "Loki, one thing is for sure, you have my eternal loyalty, but my heart you will have to win!" Caerelia kissed his forehead, then stood up, drew the drapes across the windows, and left, closing the door silently behind her.

15


End file.
